


To Admit You Have a Problem

by RandomGuygoesviral



Category: Kindergarten (Video Games 2017 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, It isn't outright mentioned but it's there, Kidd has PTSD, Mental Health Issues, Mild Blood, Nervousness, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Acceptance, Self-Comfort, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomGuygoesviral/pseuds/RandomGuygoesviral
Summary: It's hard to admit that something is wrong, no matter how much you want to. Sometimes you don't want to, but you have to. That's hard, too.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63





	To Admit You Have a Problem

Saying that he had a problem was the most terrifying thing he’d ever done. That was saying something, especially from him. He’d died, he’d watched other people die, he’d killed people. None of it began to compare to how scared he was, sitting all alone in his room, and admitting there was something wrong. Nothing in the world twisted Kidd’s stomach up in knots more.

He remembered it vividly. Kidd was sitting cross-legged on top of his bed, looking at a mirror that sat across from. Or he was trying to look at the mirror, in any case. What he was really doing was looking at his palms. They were bleeding again. He’d gotten stressed out… so he balled his fists and dug his nails into his palms.

Crimson dripped slowly onto his blue comforter, overwhelming the cooler tone. Kidd knew how to wash blood out of fabric, it’d be fine. He wiped the blood off of his hands, wrapping bandages around both hands. There were some perks to being ambidextrous, he supposed. All he was doing was stalling, though. He knew full well what he was doing. This was all a distraction, him avoiding what was his own plan.

Kidd forced his gaze up from his hands, looking at the mirror. There was a pang in his chest. He flexed his fingers and the reflection did it right back. His gaze was cast down, avoiding the higher parts of his form. A lump formed in his throat as he slowly forced his eyes up. Up to his chest, to his neck, forcing the glimpses of anything higher out of his mind. White hot tears began sliding down his cheeks.

Then Kidd was looking at his face. Tears fell from his eyes, his lips were quivering, but everything was tight. His jaw was locked shut and his breathing was shallow. He could feel his hands starting to curl up, he forced them stiff. Eyes met his reflection’s, fixing there. A staring contest against himself.

He tried to speak but his jaw wouldn’t open. So all he did was continue looking at himself, locked in place. As his entire body stiffened, Kidd tried to force himself to calm. When calming himself failed to work, he started forcing tears to fall from his eyes. It wasn’t as if he was faking the tears, not at all. All it was was that he was fighting against what he knew and what he wanted.

As tears fell more quickly, his face fell, too. Quivering lips shifted to a frown, his eyebrows softened. He was falling apart from the top down. Shoulders relaxed, his posture slouched. Kidd’s hands traveled up to his chest, wrapping himself into a hug of sorts. All the while, his gaze stayed fixed on himself.

It was agonizing, absolutely agonizing. All he’d known for far too long was that stiff nothingness. He was not an emotional person, that’s what he hold himself. Part of him knew that wasn’t true, as much as he claimed it was. Kidd was a child, he shouldn’t have been expected to feel nothing. That was too much pressure on a child, even one like him.

He willed himself to speak. He couldn’t. But he had to. He tried again. A dull whine choked itself out from his throat. Again. He forced his jaw open. Shaky breath in, less shaky breath out. One more try.

“Ki…” his words died on his tongue. No. Not that name. Not yet. Start easy. 

“Kidd.” It was barely a whisper.

“Kidd!” Suddenly he was almost shouting,” You are not okay! **_You are not okay!_ ** Kidd, you’re not okay! And that’s fine! You need help! It’s not bad that you need help! You can let yourself need help!”

It didn’t work how it did in the movies. A sudden weight wasn’t lifted off of his shoulders. He wasn’t hit by a wave of relief. Birds didn’t chirp and choirs didn’t sing, he wasn’t suddenly fixed, he wasn’t just okay again. For a moment, he even felt worse.

But then he felt better. Even as tears came from his eyes in waves, even as he sniffled. As he sobbed… he felt better. No, he wasn’t okay. Not nearly. Just better.

_”Let yourself ask for help...”_

**Author's Note:**

> This was sort of a character study. The way I write Kidd seems to differ from lots of other people. He's stubborn and quiet, he claims to be emotionless. But keep in mind, he's a literal child. Seeing that much blood and death can't possibly be good for his mental health. So I've given him PTSD for that reason.  
> Here's my reminder to not magically fix a character's mental state. That isn't how life works. Much like with actual wounds, healing takes time. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are always appreciated! I love hearing feedback on my work. This is the shortest thing I've posted in a while so I want to know if it's alright!


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